


I'd Lay all the Stars at your Feet

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Dragons, Explicit Sexual Content, Intersex Thranduil, M/M, Mpreg, Sorry Not Sorry, Space Elves, Timeline Distortion, everything happens at the same time, okay now i probably scared you with that tag lol, political sex, the countries are planets, the lotr timeline happens in the background, we focus on the hobbit part here though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'd Lay all the Stars at your Feet (or Fire in the Vacuum of Space): Two Kings make an agreement of a rather personal nature, but at the same time, a Ring is found on Shire. Unnoticed by all, a fiery threat stirs in the outskirts of the Anor solar system.</p><p>Will the people of the Anor system be able to overcome old grudges, feuds and rivalries and unite under the banner of the Anor Alliance once more to defeat Evil? What about love, which always appears where it has no place? Grand stories always need sacrifices in them, and some who set off for this adventure might never come back.</p><p>(Abandoned.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Broker a Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations between Kings must be handled with utmost delicacy ... But Dwarves were never known for their tact.

_Wir waren Welten entfernt und doch vom selben Stern._

_We were worlds apart and yet from the same star._

**-Adel Tawil – Lieder**

****

They were rapidly approaching the Galenian Belt, but neither the asteroids nor any patrols were anywhere in sight. Glóin, pilot of the star ship _Pendeloque_ , didn’t show his nervousness, even though Thorin knew other Dwarves would be trembling in fear in his position. Not so Glóin. He was the best pilot of Erebor’s fleet, and the  _Pendeloque_  was the quickest, most agile ship of its size – perfect to land on the Trojan asteroids, also known as the Trojans of Eryn Galen. The Ash-King’s realm. The remnants of a millennia old empire, scattered in space. But the Galenians were no less dangerous for it; if anything, it made them even more deadly.

“Just keep your eyes open,” Thorin said and patted Glóin’s shoulder, but his gentle encouragement was directed at everyone on the pilot deck.

He was just about to turn away from the front panel when one of the navigators – the young Ori – noticed something.

“Sir, I got a fast approaching signal,” he reported. “Very small, I almost dismissed it as debris.”

Thorin exchanged a look with his personal guard, Dwalin.

“Leaper,” they both said. But before anyone could react – he heard Glóin shouting for battle shields, but it was already too late – a hollow bang made them stare through the front panel. There was a tall shape, and it had landed on the ship’s bow, mid-flight.

“Full stop!” Glóin shouted. “Give me a direct line, Bofur, let’s talk to whoever that is. Scratching my baby, that asshole, he’ll pay for that. Dori, load our weapon systems, direct them at him.”

There was a moment of chaos on deck, but it only took the men a few seconds to carry out the orders. Thorin felt the ship vibrate under his feet, straining under the full stop. The figure on the ship’s bow stepped forward, boots thundering loudly on the hull. Thorin knew the boots were probably magnetic. The Leaper reached up, to his helmet.

“This is Captain Tauriel of the Galenian Leaper Guard. Please identify yourself and state your business,” a female voice said.

“A woman,” someone said, surprised. “I thought they didn’t have enough women on the Trojans – not after their planet blew up.”

“Shut up, Kíli.”

Thorin only quickly turned to look at his nephews and wondered, when they had come on deck. They exchanged a short glance, before he turned back to look at Captain Tauriel.

“Commander Glóin son of Gróin speaking. This is the Ereborian ship  _LA Pendeloque_  of the royal fleet under command of His Royal Majesty King under the Mountain Thorin II Oakenshield himself. We are here to make business with the Ash-King,” Glóin proudly announced.

A snort came through the communicator.

“You best don’t call him that to his face, Commander. My King is either His Grace, His Highness, or you may pick from the titles Broken One, First Leaper or Source Keeper.” She chuckled. “And whatever business you have to conduct, Your Majesty, I wish you the best of luck. You may pass.”

They saw Captain Tauriel activate her thrusters and dislodge her magnetic boots, before she swooped out of their visual field. And as if by magic, there suddenly appeared readings on their detectors that definitely weren’t there before, readings that told them that the Galenian asteroids were less than half an hour ahead of them. A collective sigh of relief ran through the crew, but Thorin knew it was too early to hope yet. He’d met the Ash-King only once before, and even though he’d been the one subjugated then, forced to pay homage, he now knew better than to regard him as anything less than a natural force to be reckoned with.

“Stay alert,” he said to Glóin, successfully wiping the smile off the pilot’s face. “Elves are tricky bastards, and Galenians even more so.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Estimated time of arrival: 20 minutes,” Ori announced then.

Well, those were going to be some of the longest 20 minutes Thorin had suffered so far. Probably to be topped by those he would have to spend in the Ash-King’s presence.

He sighed and turned to face his nephews.

“Fíli, Kíli,” he greeted them.

“Your Majesty,” they replied, bowing formally.

“You both know what will await us, once we land. I hope you are well-prepared.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We will follow your and Captain Dwalin’s orders,” Fíli answered.

“We will not interfere with the negotiations or do anything to threaten our mission,” Kíli added.

Pleased with their answers Thorin turned back to stand beside Glóin, who expertly led them through fields of Trojan debris – once part of the Valinorian moon Eryn Galen – and calmly handled all the protocols that finally allowed them to approach the main asteroid and land in one of the docks. Now that the easiest part was behind them, Thorin didn’t feel the tiniest bit nervous. After all, he only had to convince the Ash-King to bind himself to him with a trade that demanded full trust. Child’s play, really.

***

Thorin, Dwalin, Glóin, Fíli and Kíli were the only ones who were allowed to see the Ash-King in person. Captain Tauriel led them through the docks and down a long, narrow tunnel with only the headlight on her helmet as illumination. As Dwarves they were used to underground territory, claustrophobic circumstances and darkness, so it didn’t unsettle them too much.

The Captain brought them to an airtight sealed door of steel and pressed her hand to it.

“Wait here,” she said, as the door slowly swung open. “I will announce you to His Grace.”

There was nothing else for Thorin and his companions but to wait outside – this time in complete darkness. They felt a faint hum reverberate through the rock surrounding them. Thorin suspected the vibrations were caused by whatever power source gave this asteroid its atmosphere, magnetic field and gravity. But before he could utter any of his thoughts to his companions, the door opened again and Captain Tauriel let them through.

“You may enter, but only King Thorin is allowed to speak,” she said.

“Aren’t you going to search us for weapons?” Kíli asked cockily and grinned.

“You are no threat to His Grace,” she only said, almost looking bored, and turned her still armoured back on them to fortify her point. Kíli visibly deflated at that, though he shot a glare at Fíli, who snickered behind his hand.

They pressed through the narrow door and finally entered what seemed to be the throne room. The masterfully hewn pillars reminded Thorin of the proud, tall trunks of ancient oaks, and the rough, uneven floor almost conjured the impression of forest soil. But the dim, washed-out light was wrong, the unmistakeable odour of bare rock was wrong, the silence was wrong. Despite that, he had to admit that the Galenians had created a beautiful semblance of what once had been their home. He felt mossy structures under his boots, even rocky twigs and fallen leaves, as he stepped through the artificial forest and in front of the large throne. In fact it was so large that the tall, pale figure sitting – no, lying – on it could comfortably curl up amid pillows and covers.

“Welcome, King Thorin of Erebor,” he said softly, but his deep voice rang through the throne room like grand bells. The Ash-King lifted his head from where he had propped it – a root made from rough, bare rock – and carded a long-fingered hand through his silver-blonde hair that fell like mithril threads down his body and pooled on blood-red blankets. His cerulean eyes shone from a porcelain face, whose left half was cracked like crushed glass.

“King Thranduil of Eryn Galen,” he answered and bowed his head. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw his companions bow deeper than him, Dwalin and Glóin even kneeled. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

Thranduil nodded and gestured for them to rise, before he languidly stretched and straightened himself into a sitting position. But Thorin’s eyes shot to his midsection, where the thick plates of Galenian Leaper armour stretched over his flat belly and broad chest. They were only visible for a short moment, before his silver-red coat fell back into place.

“Captain Tauriel tells me you are here to make business,” he went on and waved a servant, who brought him his crown and sceptre. The crown, made from raw meteoritic iron, sat on his mithril head like a corona. When he gripped the iron sceptre and lightly set it on the ground, he looked at Thorin with sapphire eyes. “What do you want from me, King under the Mountain?”

“I need your help,” he said without any preamble, because he knew that Galenians – and especially Thranduil – were fond of directness in interactions. They hated nothing more than boredom and other wastes of time.

“Help,” Thranduil repeated, letting the word cut through the air like a sword. It was well-known that the Ash-King held no love for the Alliance – and Erebor, and therefore Thorin, were part of it. Thorin had always secretly thought that his wrath was not entirely unjustified, but now it only complicated things.

Thorin hesitated and exchanged a quick glance with Dwalin by his side, before he straightened his back and stared Thranduil dead in the eyes.

“I come to speak from King to King, under the white flag of peace to offer _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh._ ”

Thranduil hissed sharply, baring his ivory teeth. Twig-fingers clutched the sceptre, until Thorin feared they might break the solid iron.

“You cannot be serious” he said disbelievingly.

“But I am.”

“Leave us!” Thranduil barked angrily and made a sharp, cutting motion with his free hand.

Captain Tauriel stepped forward – more guards peeled out of the shadows and from behind pillars – and gripped Fíli and Kíli with one arm, and Glóin and Dwalin with the other.

“Your Majesty,” Dwalin protested and fought the Captain, planting his feet firmly on the stone floor. Thorin knew he was on enemy territory, despite the Trojans of Eryn Galen officially still belonging to the Anor Alliance, and he knew Dwalin’s thoughts about his King being alone in such environment. But this was negotiating, this was a war of words and deeds. Thranduil was a shrewd King, and right now he had the upper hand. Thorin couldn’t afford resistance, lest the bargain go awry.

“You heard the King,” Thorin said then, not once tearing his gaze away from Thranduil’s blood-and-iron figure.

“But- …”

“Captain Dwalin!” he bellowed. “You were ordered to leave. You know the punishment for the disobedience of a royal command.”

“Of course … Your Majesty.”

Thorin could literally feel Dwalin’s stare on his back the whole time. The unpleasant feeling didn’t stop until he heard the steel door seal itself. He opened his mouth to pick up where their conversation had been interrupted, but Thranduil ignored him and leaned to his right.

“You too, little one,” he said gently, seemingly into the darkness, but then Thorin saw a small, slender body fidget in the shadows behind the throne.

“You knew I was there the whole time?” a small child’s voice asked.

“Merilinon …” Thranduil’s voice was still soft, but even Thorin squirmed under the chiding tone. “Step forward, I can’t see you from here.”

A young child stepped out of the shadows – a boy, it seemed, even though Thorin wasn’t sure. The missing beards made it so difficult to tell the gender of other races, especially children. He would have estimated the boy to be ten or fifteen in Dwarven age; respectively about five or seven, had he been a Man. Though that didn’t have to mean anything – Elves aged weirdly. He had honey-blond hair and gentle grey eyes, but he was unmistakably Thranduil’s son. For a second it saddened Thorin to see that even the child wore lightweight armour. The boy, Merilinon, stood on the tips of his toes to press a quick kiss to his father’s cheek.

“How do we greet a King?” Thranduil asked, still mild and soft, so unlike his usual self, and carded his fingers through the boy’s honey hair. Merilinon’s eyes widened and he sunk to his knees, reaching for his father’s hand, but the King chuckled. “Not me, little bird. I mean King Thorin.”

The boy visibly blushed and stood again, turning to look at Thorin. He took a deep breath and gathered his courage, before he bowed deeply.

“Prince Merilinon, son of Thranduil. At your service, Your Majesty, King under the Mountain Thorin II Oakenshield of Erebor, son of Thráin, son of Thrór.”

Thorin smiled at that. A true Prince indeed. For a second he remembered his own education – learning all those different greetings and all the parentages … Heraldry had been one of the most hated subjects of his.

“Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo, Ernil Merilinon,” he responded, seeing both the boy’s and his father’s eyes wide a little at that.

“Go find your brothers now,” Thranduil said then and stroked the boy’s hair once more. “I’m sure at least Legolas is throwing a fit by now.”

“Do you think they’ll be angry?” the boy whispered anxiously and clung to Thranduil’s arm. “I don’t want Cedhron to get angry, it’s not good for the baby.”

“Well, then you shouldn’t have run off like that. But you’ll just have to go and see how he is.”

Merilinon nodded and bit his lip, but stayed where he was, all but bouncing on his feet.

“Now,” Thranduil added sternly, and the child swiftly ran past Thorin. Though when he heard the steel door seal itself and he opened his mouth again to pick up their conversation, Thranduil tilted his head and stared past him.

“Merilinon, one usually stands  _outside_  when closing the door.”

“But Adana-aaa,” he whined.

“I don’t want to order you, little one. Don’t make me.”

A soft sigh came, before the door opened and sealed again with a soft whoosh.

“So,” Thranduil said, and again his voice rung like a bronze bell. “ _Sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh._ ”

“There are many things many people want from you,” Thorin replied, hiding his nervousness, and slowly stepped forward, one foot after the other. “The Alliance wants your Leapers, your oath. Your people want you to isolate yourself further. I want … I  _need_  something else.” He tilted his head and looked Thranduil over. “They can’t offer you anything … but I can.”

He saw the spark of interest in the Ash-King’s eyes then.

“And what would that be?” he purred.

“While I am King under the Mountain, many still doubt my rule, for it is not based on the shoulders of my sons and their sons, but on my nephews instead. Despite the fact that many lasses would gladly become my Queen, none yet offered what I thirst for. If we,” Thorin paused again, letting his eyes wander over the long, well-formed limbs of the beautiful creature in front of him, “were to …  _join_  … I could prove my potency without having to share name, crown and throne.”

Thranduil took a deep, slow breath. Thorin stood before him, as close as he could get without touching.

“Why would I allow you to do this?” the Ash-King asked, probably aiming for cold detachedness, but his voice was heavy with  _contemplation_. Thorin dared to move and climbed the last step, making their knees meet.

“If we were to share our bodies,” Thorin continued, leaning against the touch connecting them, and this time his own voice was weighed too, “and you were to carry the fruit of our union, it could either be a son or a daughter. I would claim the child, if it is a son – for I am in need of an heir. You would claim it, if it is a daughter – for you have many warriors, but there are few daughters in your realm. You yourself have no daughter yet, despite the many sons you carried yourself.”

“ _Bold_  indeed,” Thranduil said, referring to the meaning of Thorin’s name, though his sapphire eyes – now darkened with what Thorin hoped was desire and not anger – shifted to their knees and their tight press against each other. “But your plan fails at the mention of an heir. I doubt your council would accept a  _peredhil_  as your heir. A bastard no less. You would gain nothing.”

“But I am still King – and on Erebor it is law that the King choose his heir.” Thorin grinned, slowly and languidly. “But what I gain should be not of your concern. Not if what you might gain is a precious daughter.”

“You are so full of yourself,” Thranduil spat venomously. “How can you be so sure I will accept this bargain?”

“Because of this,” Thorin rasped and gripped the Ash-King by the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him towards him and clashing their lips together, like he had done with their knees. Despite his cold, sharp-edged appearance and taunting words, Thranduil’s lips felt soft and warm on his. His mithril hair felt silky on the calloused skin of his hands, as did the pale, porcelain skin. Even though this was his game and he should therefore be in control, he felt familiar heat flaring in his body. He mindlessly licked his way into the Ash-King’s mouth and forced himself between the armoured knees until he was finally embraced by powerful thighs. A loud clank of metal on stone told him that Thranduil had let go of his iron sceptre, and this was all the warning he got before twig-fingers dug into his hair and pulled at the heavy leather coat, bringing him even closer. Just as he allowed his own hands to roam – though there was only the cool metal of Thranduil’s Leaper armour underneath that silk and brocade – Thranduil pulled away with a deep intake of breath.

“A very convincing argument,” he said a little breathlessly, hands still entwined in hair and leather.

From such a close position Thorin could easily examine the capillary, almost crack-like lines that marred the Ash-King’s left half of his face. Looked at from afar you couldn’t even see them, and in this proximity they only enhanced his cool beauty. For a second he lost himself in their inspection and only snapped out of it once Thranduil loosened his grip on his coat and hair.

“Does that mean you agree to the terms laid out before you?” he asked huskily and rested his own hands on Thranduil’s thighs to his right and left.

“It means I might consider them.” A slow, prideful smile parted Thranduil’s lips that were slightly reddened by their activities. “Though why should I not taste the mellow fruit you offer me without having to bind myself to _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh_?”

“Because I will refuse to share,” Thorin replied and turned his head, as if to pull away entirely. A cold hand on his cheek held him back.

“I will consider your offer, Thorin. However, I can make no promises. I must gain the approval of my House and council.” Thranduil’s sapphire eyes looked thoughtful. “We may be Kings, but no King decides without his people in mind or we would become tyrants. And Even Lords must think far further ahead than even Dwarven Lords. Whatever my answer … Keep this in mind.”

Thorin searched the Ash-King’s face for long moments. After all he knew and had heard about this solitary ruler of a destroyed realm – ill-tempered, suspicious, unforgiving … One encountered wisdom and beauty of the mind in strange places indeed. He himself was a young, inexperienced ruler yet. Maybe he could gain more than pleasure and an heir from his trade.

“I will wait for your answer,” he said after a while and respectfully nodded, before he left through the airtight sealed door.

There in the darkness, still only illuminated by the flashlights on Captain Tauriel’s helmet, waited his companions. Dwalin immediately gripped him by the shoulders and looked him up and down for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Dwalin, the King didn’t bite,” he joked and gently swatted his bodyguard’s hands off him.

“Were you successful?” Fíli asked, tone calm and trusting, even though none of them had known of Thorin’s plans and yet still followed him blindly.

“Yes. The King will consider my offer,” Thorin answered, and they all knew this answer had to suffice for now.

“Come,” Tauriel chimed in. “You may stay on your ship to await His Grace’s answer, though we will be honoured to have you as our guests. Should my King wish to dine with you, I will send guards to pick you up. If not, dinner will be served in your rooms – or, if you so wish, you may eat on your ship.”

“No, we would happily accept your gracious offer of hospitality, Captain.”

“Then follow me.”

***

The rooms they were given were underground, as was the whole of the palace. The King’s Caverns were not on the largest of the Trojans, which were reserved for the main populace. After all, only the royal family, the King’s closest advisors, a few servants and the highest-ranking Leaper officers lived here.

As everywhere, the rock was only roughly hewn – there were little to no angles, only the floor inside their chambers was perfectly horizontal. Small bioluminescent lights filled the rooms with eerie shadows that thankfully didn’t flicker, otherwise Thorin was certain his nephews would have scared themselves already. Only the crudest of furniture was to be found: a small table, a chair, an empty chest and a narrow bed. At the sight of it Thorin immediately thought of the Ash-King and his long, elegant limbs; what he would look like, stretched out on this cot, writhing under him in pleasure; what sounds he would make. But he quickly tore himself from this daydream, lest he became too aroused already, without even knowing Thranduil’s answer. He was confident, yes, and they had both enjoyed that kiss. But Thranduil was a good King, and good Kings didn’t just think of themselves and their desires.

A _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh_ was much more than just a ‘trade of vows between honourable Kings’, as it could be translated. It was a binding contract that connected two rulers beyond any other oaths, even towards their own people. So far their _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh_ would only consist of a physical level, but there were other levels too, like the level of knowledge or the level of honour. There were five levels in all, and the more levels a _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh_ consisted of, the more bound the rulers were to each other. It demanded great trust, to agree to such a trade.

There was nothing to do for them but wait, so Thorin joined Dwalin, Glóin and his nephews in a small, rather cosy salon, and they passed the time with card games. Sometimes a servant would slip by, but they ignored him like he ignored them.

It was hard to tell how late it was, not only because there was no sunlight under the surface, but also because the Trojans had no natural days like planets or moons did. Time might flow quite differently for Elves anyway, so they had literally no idea when the appropriate hour for dinner – did they even measure their time in hours too? Thorin didn’t know the answer, when Kíli asked him – might be. But before they could even run out of patience and games to play a male servant asked them to follow him to dine with the King.

As soon as they entered the brightly lit dining hall, Thorin felt severely underdressed. Elves always possessed an ethereal beauty that made Dwarves look crude and brutish anyway, but despite his fine boots, gem-studded belt and fur-brimmed leather coat he felt more like a peasant than a King beside the gathered Elves, who respectfully stood as he and his companions entered. Some, like Captain Tauriel, who nodded at them in greeting, were wearing parts of their Leaper armour, shining like the carapaces of black beetles; others wore silken robes in all the colours of the sky. As he walked past them to where the servant was indicating for him to sit, he wished he’d at least brushed his hair and re-done his royal braids. And his insecurity was only heightened by the fact that Dwalin and Glóin were asked to sit at the other end of the table, successfully separating him from his guard. Only Fíli and Kíli were allowed to sit with him. His nephews were still young and reckless, but they were here to learn, after all.

“Welcome,” Thranduil’s bell-like voice rang gently and he rose from his cushioned seat – Thorin couldn’t help but notice how loose his cream white robe hung around his neck, almost exposing his shoulders and collarbone – to greet Thorin with a nod. He elegantly gestured at two Elves to his right. “These are my sons, Crown Prince Legolas and Prince Cedhron.”

Thorin quickly eyed the two Princes, who both wore robes of the exact same silver-green colour, though Prince Cedhron’s was wider cut to accommodate his rather large belly.

“Congratulations,” Thorin said to him, and the fair face that resembled his father’s quite much, lit up with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

When Thranduil gestured for everyone to sit, servants – all male, Thorin noticed – rushed in and brought large bowls and plates with food on them. He could smell fresh vegetables, warm bread, roasted grain, a hearty stew and a few spicy sauces that accompanied potatoes, but no meat. After Thranduil took his first bite and nodded, everyone started piling food on their plates in a quick but organised and civil manner. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his nephews diving into their plates as if they were starved, but Thorin politely tried all of the dishes and complimented the food.

“Your Majesty,” Prince Legolas said after he’d eaten a small potato dunked in a  _very_  spicy sauce, and held out a small bowl with something slimy and ugly looking in it. “These help with the pain.”

Thorin suspiciously eyed the bowl after a large gulp of water, coughing as silently as he could and ignoring the tears in his eyes, because the water had only intensified the burning in his mouth.

“They are mushrooms,” Thranduil explained, looking at him with a faintly amused expression.

“I bet they taste horrible,” Thorin grumbled, but took some and slowly chewed the surprisingly stringy mushrooms. To his relief they had little to no flavour, and the burning on his tongue little by little receded.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully and flashed a smile at the Crown Prince, who only nodded.

“You are welcome.”

“I think I will stick to vegetables now,” he joked. “They seem to be safe.”

Thranduil chuckled and said something in Sindarin to Prince Cedhron, who grinned in response and handed him a dish.

“Absolutely not, you must try these,” Thranduil set the bowl in front of Thorin and took a spoonful of the roasted grain in it himself, but didn’t eat it yet. “Take some and put it in your mouth, but don’t chew.”

Thorin threw a questioning look at both of the Princes, and he heard Fíli and Kíli go silent in anticipation beside him, but apart from an encouraging nod from Prince Cedhron he received no reaction.

“Well then.” He raised his spoon with some of the grain in it as if to salute. “Here goes nothing.”

He saw Thranduil put his spoon into his mouth almost at the same time as him, and when nothing happened at first, he exchanged a confused glance with Fíli, who sat to his left and grinned like an idiot. Before he could do anything else, the grain on his tongue  _exploded_  and filled his mouth with a salty, but otherwise luckily neutral taste. Surprised, he let out an undignified whelp, and some of the stuff fell out and onto his plate. Laughter shook the whole table – he could exactly hear Dwalin’s bellows, that bastard.

After he chewed and swallowed the surprisingly squishy  _something_  he had to laugh himself.

“What was that?” he asked.

“We call it popping corn,” Prince Cedhron explained. “You roast it first, and when it comes in contact with the saliva in your mouth it explodes.”

“It is always very amusing,” Thranduil added mischievously and took another spoonful, which blew up after a few seconds. Thorin couldn’t help but laugh at the sight and ate another spoonful himself.

Who would have thought that Elves can enjoy themselves like this? Thorin certainly hadn’t, but it was a pleasant revelation. And judging after the very long, very sensual looks he and Thranduil exchanged after the servants brought them wine and they indulged in its rich, heady aroma … Well, maybe there was even more enjoyment to have.

* * *

 

 

> **  
>   
> Translations (in order of appearance):**
> 
> ****Sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh:**** Trade of vows between honourable Kings. Khuzdul. (Word-by-word translation: trade, from/about, of vows, greatest Kings)
> 
> **Merilinon:** derived from the Sindarin 'merilin' (nightingale) + -on (male suffix), meaning ' _nightingale_ '
> 
> **Ernil:** Sindarin for ' _Prince_ '
> 
> **Cedhron:** derived from the Sindarin 'cen' (to see) + -ron (male suffix), meaning ' _seer_ '
> 
> **Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo:** _The stars shine upon the hour of our meeting_.
> 
> **Peredhil:** Half-Elves. 'Per' (half) + 'edhil' (Elves). Singular form _peredhel_. Children of the union between Elves and mortals.
> 
> **Adana:** Affectionate, parental title, literal meaning ' _father-mother_ '. A mixture of the Sindarin 'ada' (daddy), and 'nana' (mommy). Used for Galenian Carriers.
> 
> I take the Elven names from [realelvish.net](http://www.realelvish.net/namelists.php), which is a huge help! The Khuzdul is from a translator on scribd: [English-Khuzdul](http://de.scribd.com/doc/98387422/Khuzdul-Dictionary-E-K-v01-JUN12) and [Khuzdul-English](http://de.scribd.com/doc/98388264/Khuzdul-Dictionary-K-E-v01-JUN12). I have no idea about Khuzdul syntax, so I made something up ... Idk. Also i'm not sure about the û in gundûz? If someone is better at this than I am, I would appreciate any help. For Sindarin there are a lot of phrase-collections, but as a German speaker I sometimes use the [Sindarin Lexikon](http://www.sindarin.de/index.html), especially for derivations.


	2. To Walk the Talk

_ So wie du dich anfühlst, so fühlt sich Leben an. _

_ The way you feel, that’s what life feels like. _

** -Frida Gold – Zeig mir wie du tanzt **

Thorin woke to the soft light of bioluminescence and the soft tap of someone knocking on the door of his guest chamber. He groaned and carefully got to his feet, still feeling the effects of the copious amounts of wine he’d consumed last night. Dwarves were resilient drinkers, but Elven wine was well-known for its potency throughout the Anor system.

The knocking repeated itself and he grumbled something, shuffling with his naked feet over rough stone. He was only wearing his undergarments, and for a moment he hesitated, before shrugging on his heavy leather coat. The air was rather cool, after all.

“Coming,” he said and opened the door, only to be faced with a barely clothed chest.

“Your Majesty,” Thranduil purred. From his mouth those two words sounded downright titillating.

“Your Grace.” Keeping his voice at least somewhat even was all Thorin could do in a situation like this. Having an Elven King leaning against your doorframe, wearing nothing but a silken nightgown – that was far too thin and revealed far too much … it ended well above his knees, and even though his thighs were _long_ , they weren’t long enough for this – with his hands behind his back and a seductive glint in his sapphire eyes … He cleared his throat. “How may I be of assistance?”

Thranduil’s eyebrows shot up at this and he inwardly punched himself for his loose tongue.

“Well,” he murmured and leaned forward with a conspiratorial look over his shoulder. “You could let me in. It wouldn’t do to let anyone see me at your door in my nightdress, yes?”

Thorin gulped down dry air, but remembered his manners and stepped aside, letting that creamy white apparition float past him on silent, naked feet. Despite his … informal appearance, Thranduil still had the air of a millennia-old King.

“Last night I gathered my council,” he began without preamble and strolled around the small room, completely ignoring how the seam of his nightgown threatened to slip higher and higher with every fluent step he took – or maybe he aimed for that, who knew. “I told them of your proposition of a _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh_. Let me say they were not delighted by it.”

“What was your decision, then?” Thorin asked, trying to ignore the heat that gathered quite low in his stomach – or probably even further down – at the sight before him.

Thranduil spun around, and the motion let his mithril hair float in the air and made his nightgown billow around his slim figure.

“Well, I’d say we should celebrate,” he said with a lazy smile and stepped towards Thorin with two long strides that _definitely_ let more show than was decent.

“Have a seat then,” Thorin rasped hoarsely, looking up at the Ash-King through heavy-lidded eyes. Thranduil happily complied and let himself fall onto Thorin’s bed, not sitting, but sinking down, _down_ , until his mithril hair rested on the cushion. And when his body lay stretched out, he writhed slightly, letting his legs fall open just a little bit; but that was too much for Thorin and he couldn’t remember how he got to the bed, _onto_ it, onto Thranduil, straddling his hips. Their faces were only inches apart, so when Thorin saw the openly burning lust in those sapphire eyes, all he had to do was let himself fall to make their hungry lips meet.

Kissing, licking, biting, sucking, it all only aimed towards that heat in him, in them both. It made the flames of their arousal flare like dying suns, burning and shining, destroying thoughts and restraints until all there was left was the hunger for skin on skin, for the humblest and truest of bonds. All barriers were shed quickly, to make way for the ancient art of clashing bodies. Oh, the songs Thranduil sang when Thorin’s hand wrote poems and worshipping prayers on his bared skin; every sound bore into Thorin’s body like a hook, drawing him closer and closer to this star, until there was only the wish for them to be one, in body and soul, to share the highest of pleasures.

Thorin prepared him slowly. His fingers gently dipped between the powerful thighs, between Thranduil’s pale, smooth folds, where hot, wet lips kissed his fingertips. The simplest touches elicited the sweetest moans from the body under him, setting the blood in his own loins ablaze. But when he stilled for a moment to savour the pleasurable burn low in his belly, long legs wrapped themselves around his hips and pulled him towards their middle. They both groaned at the blissful sensation of Thorin’s glans rubbing against Thranduil’s most sensitive flesh.

“Patience,” Thorin grunted breathlessly, gripping trembling flesh just above the juncture of leg and hip, to keep them both from rocking against each other.

“I cannot … I need … Thorin,” Thranduil whispered, frantically working his hips, trying to find that desperately sought-after friction. His hands clawed at Thorin’s shoulders, tugging at him, until he complied and clashed their lips together in a poor compensation for what their bodies craved. While he plundered Thranduil’s soft, compliant mouth, he continued to prepare him by gently pushing at the swollen opening with one finger at first, sliding it in. Thranduil moaned into their kiss and locked his legs around Thorin’s torso in response. The second finger made him buck off the mattress, which broke their kiss and allowed his delirious cry to fill the room.

A jolt of sharp arousal made Thorin’s painfully swollen dick jump as he felt the wet heat clutching at his fingers when he found the secret spot inside Thranduil’s body. Just the thought of burying himself in this tightness almost pushed him over the edge.

“Mmm … mooo … re,” Thranduil moaned between laboured pants, pushing himself up and down on Thorin’s fingers; by now there were three of them inside, massaging the sucking walls of their trembling sheath. The desperate plea made Thorin’s breath go faster, get louder, until it was on par with Thranduil’s sighs. He had to fight with all his willpower not to _push forward_ or grip his pulsating cock in a tight hand right now.

“Do you want this?” he asked, kissing Thranduil’s slack mouth. Panting, whining, he nodded wildly, spluttering Yesses and Pleases between Sindarin curses and Thorin’s name.

Finally, he extracted his fingers with a soft pop, gathering as much of the natural lubricant Thranduil offered him as he could and spreading it on his rock-hard member. When he set the tip of his cock at the fluttering opening, he looked into Thranduil’s usually cerulean eyes that were now darkened to complete blackness by ecstatic passion. His face was open and flushed, trusting and begging; and as Thorin leaned his weight forward, pushing in, inch by inch, he kept looking even though he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and give himself into the feeling of purest bliss. Thranduil’s hands flew up, one to bury itself in his hair, the other to tightly grip his buttocks, as if Thorin were all that kept his spirit grounded. Only when he was buried to the hilt into clenching, snug heat did he realise that they were both howling in triumph, as if this were the ultimate conclusion.

He set a slow rhythm at first, circling his hips and only minutely pushing, relishing the calm before the inevitable storm. When the sizzling electricity wasn’t enough anymore, he went over to thorough thrusts that let Thranduil feel every inch of Thorin’s dick pushing in and dragging out again. The flood of sensations however soon annihilated all thought, raising quiet, musical moans to sharp cries. He sped up his rhythm, fighting against Thranduil’s muscles that tried to grip him, keep him inside. When the tip of Thorin’s cock brushed against that secret spot, hurriedly pressing and stroking it a few times, before his aim shifted again, Thranduil’s body shuddered uncontrollably, clenching around him almost painfully.

“Aaah …” Thorin paused, dragging his hands up Thranduil’s torso to calm the raging shivers.

“Don’t … stop,” Thranduil panted. “Do … Do it again.”

Thorin gently shifted the weight of his cock, slightly angling his hips to be able to rub more easily against the tight muscle surrounding him. It created the sweetest friction, teasing his delicate tip, and just before it got too much for him, Thranduil trembled again and let out a long, deep moan.

“Does this feel good, huh?” he groaned, pushing roughly.

“ _Yes_ , oh, yes … _Melethron nín_ , do not tease me …”

“ _Âzyungâl_ ,” he whispered back after hearing the Sindarin word for ‘lover’, gifting Thranduil with its counterpart in Khuzdul. He decided not to torture them both any longer, so he thrust hard and deep, dragging his cock perfectly over Thranduil’s sensitive spot. Their voices wove a choir of wails, moans and cries of ecstasy as he pounded the Elf’s clutching, wet heat with all his might, never missing his mark. They were soon both covered in a glistening sheen of sweat that made their skin slap audibly, whenever Thorin’s pelvis hit Thranduil’s rear, and with the mounting strength of Thorin’s thrusts, the bed started to creak under the onslaught of their lust, adding to the carnal symphony of their first coupling.

When Thorin felt the tremors ripple through Thranduil in less regular, more violent waves, he knew they wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. His own body had started to tense up, making it difficult to maintain a rhythm, and he already felt the first tingles of his approaching end in his balls. He summoned his last reserves, pushed Thranduil’s legs up, gripped him by his ass cheeks and gave up all semblance of order, letting his hips rut and jerk and plummet freely. Thranduil’s babbling yelps melted into a shrill, drawn-out wail, as his climax hit him with mind-blowing force. Thorin groaned, when nails scratched down his back and the hot-tight muscle fluttered around his cock before clenching down hard, gripping him, milking him, begging him to come. Delicious tension built in his body, until it exploded and he shot his seed deep inside Thranduil with a howl. They tried to prolong their peaks by writhing together, grinding their oversensitive loins against each other, which sent jolts of pleasure wracking through their exhausted bodies, but they soon fell into the blissful afterglow.

Thorin bowed his head – which he’d thrown back in passion – to kiss Thranduil’s hairless chest and flick his tongue against the reddened and hardened nipples, which drew a soft moan from the Elf. He shifted inside him, savouring the hot wetness of his semen on his cock that further lubricated Thranduil’s passage and made his gentle thrusts easier, despite his slowly softening dick. With a low hum he thought about taking Thranduil again, with his seed still inside him; he thought about filling him up until he dripped wet with Thorin’s come; he thought about sweet lovemaking; he thought about fucking him hard, so he would feel the stretch of his cock for days whenever he shifted.

“And?” he asked, licking a broad stripe up Thranduil’s abdomen, tasting the salty perspiration. “Do I pass muster?”

“I am not sure,” Thranduil replied, trying to and failing to suppress a shudder. “We might … have to repeat this … so I can come to a conclusive assessment.”

Thorin grinned wickedly, pressing his still half hard cock deep into Thranduil’s wet passage, feeling the blood rushing back down south at the obscene squelching noise it made. A few drops of thick fluid escaped the still raw entrance, indicating Thranduil’s similarly heightening arousal.

“I would not be averse to a repeat-performance, Your Grace,” he whispered into the Elf’s softly sighing mouth.

“What are you waiting for, then?”

***

Thranduil was a challenging lover, nearly insatiable, or so it seemed. Dwarves had great sexual prowess, but as in other areas, they were not really famous for their endurance. Well, once Thorin’s cock refused to harden even at the enticing sounds and movements he was faced with, he still had his fingers and tongue to please his paramour, giving him time to recover again and again, until he could no more. They had both peaked far too many times to count, their bodies and the bed were soiled with all sorts of bodily fluids, and the room reeked of clean sweat (mostly his) and sex (from them both), but oddly enough that didn’t bother Thorin at all. Not, when he was currently working on coaxing one last orgasm out of Thranduil, trying to convince him that there was another one, _just one more,_ with arguments that consisted mostly of flexing, massaging fingers and a wicked, wriggling tongue between.

“Nnnnh,” Thranduil whined, twisting the sheets in his fists and throwing his head from side to side. “Th- … There, yessss … Aah, Thorin.”

Thorin grinned inwardly, but pressed his tongue flat against Thranduil’s tortured clit, which tore a trembling moan from the Elf. He pulled back a bit to catch his breath and thrust his fingers instead.

“Come for me, my King,” he whispered and nuzzled his beard against the sensitive insides of Thranduil’s thighs.

“You will not comma-aah … command me,” came the growled reply, but soon Thorin felt the by now familiar tremble of muscle around his fingers. One more push against that spot deep within Thranduil’s body, and he came with a scream.

Thorin crawled up the Elf’s mile-long body, leaving kisses all over his sweaty skin, at last settling comfortably on top of him and kissing him deeply. An almost-arousal-like shudder racked through Thranduil as he tasted himself on the Dwarf’s lips.

“We should sleep,” Thranduil murmured drowsily, settling his arms and legs around Thorin’s smaller figure.

“Do you know how late it is?”

“No, but I believe it is ‘early’, not ‘late’.”

Thorin’s head shot up in shock.

“What? But it was morning when you …” _When you came to my room to fuck me like I haven’t been fucked my whole life._ Because he’d had many lovers in his life, both male and female, and sometimes even more than one at once. But never had anyone challenged and excited him like Thranduil.

“Yes, well, we spent the whole day here, in your bed … Or in your case, inside me.” A little teasing grin appeared on Thranduil’s lips, which Thorin immediately sucked off with a demanding kiss.

“So I’ve fucked you for the whole day, Your Insatiableness? Mmh, I believe that I am now qualified to do that for a whole night as well, don’t you think?”

A high, keening sound from Thranduil told him that yes, he was indeed.

“But now we should sleep, so we can join the others for breakfast.”

“I am sincerely surprised Dwalin didn’t barge in on us after I missed breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner,” Thorin murmured while mouthing along the stretch of white, sensitive skin he was offered with a tilt of the head. To himself he thought that Thranduil had been far more delicious than any food the Galenians might have offered them and he certainly wasn’t sorry about missing out on the meals.

“He was probably put off by the sounds coming from this room,” Thranduil mused with a soft sigh.

Thorin hummed and rested his head over the crook of a sharp collarbone, barely feeling the arms and hands covering him with a quilt that was maybe a bit less filthy than the others. He fell asleep to a heart beating close to his ear and their mixed scents in his nose.

***

He wasn’t very surprised to find Thranduil gone once he woke, though what surprised him was the clean state of his room. He must have been sleeping very deeply to miss someone changing the covers of the bed, even cleaning his previously sticky skin. Still, he brushed his hair, redid his royal braids, and changed into fresh clothes – someone must have brought some of his luggage from the ship into his room – and left his chambers, trying to find the royal dining hall by himself. At which he failed, of course, ending up somewhere very dark and very uninviting.

“You seem lost,” someone said, and Thorin slowly turned around, only to be faced with Crown Prince Legolas, who carried a bioluminescent lantern. He hoped it was just the light that made him look so menacing. Or Thorin was just a very unlucky Dwarf and the Prince knew about – and disapproved of – his tumble in the sheets with the King. Which, per definition of their agreement, should continue until Thranduil conceived a child. He didn’t know much about Elven sexuality, and even less about Galenian Carriers, but he really hoped that Thranduil wasn’t pregnant already, since their coupling had been very pleasant. The _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh_ was about more than sex anyway, and it wouldn’t end once their child was born.

“I am,” he then admitted with a shrug.

“Follow me,” Prince Legolas said and turned around without checking whether Thorin was following or not. Grumbling, he trotted after the tall Elf. Curse their long legs; no, actually, he loved them, as long as they were Thranduil’s and wrapped around his hips in ecstasy.

“May I ask what part of the palace I mistakenly found myself in?” he asked after a few silent minutes.

“The dungeons,” Prince Legolas replied with a monotonous voice, but his bright blue eyes looked at Thorin judgingly. _I’d rather you would have stayed down there – preferably behind bars_ , they seemed to say. “We will be just in time for breakfast,” he added.

“Perfect.” Thorin tried to sound cheerful, but instead it came out just as sarcastic as he secretly meant it. Damn him and his – practically non-existent – social and diplomatic skills.

They rounded a corner and suddenly found themselves in front of the door that led to the dining hall. Prince Legolas hung his lantern on the wall and entered without any preamble, so Thorin just followed.

Upon entering he immediately met Dwalin’s dark, unamused glare. The impressively tattooed Dwarf only shook his shaved head, and it made Thorin feel like a child being chided by a parent, even though he was King and his friend was only his guard. Thorin pointedly ignored him and followed Prince Legolas to the head of the table. Fíli and Kíli were having fun with their breakfast, as always, and they only stopped their food-fight to greet their uncle and King with a singsong ‘Good morning, Your Majesty’. He answered with a regal nod and sat on the chair to King Thranduil’s left.

Legolas said something in Sindarin then, too fast for Thorin with his poor knowledge of the language to understand anything, but it angered Thranduil, who ignored Thorin for the moment being, set down his steaming cup of tea and answered: “If you wish to criticise me, _iôn nín_ , then do so at court, but not over breakfast. And remember your manners. There are some at this table who did not understand what you were just saying.”

But Legolas simply continued to ignore all propriety, bitterly spitting out another string of sharp Sindarin, and someone gasped in outrage.

“Legolas,” Prince Cedhron said softly from his older brother’s right, trying to calm him, but the Crown Prince exploded at that and now shouted at his sibling, too. Merilinon, who sat a bit further down the table, pressed his fists on his ears and squinted. He didn’t even relax when a Tauriel gently put her arm around the boy to protect and comfort him.

“No, you’re right, you wouldn’t understand, and that has nothing to do with you not being a Carrier – this is just your frustration and ignorance speaking,” Cedhron growled irritably.

Legolas yelled in Sindarin again and suddenly lashed out, knocking the tea cup out of his father’s hands. Thranduil didn’t even flinch.

“If this is about Baralinor, then I swear- …” and another stream of Sindarin, too fast to catch for Thorin, who could only amazedly watch the match between the Princes and their father. But before Cedhron could intervene again, Thranduil cut his oldest son short.

“The _Captain_ ,” he emphasised coolly, “died honourably while protecting us all. His service to me was one out of duty and fealty, not one of affection. His loss is felt by all of Eryn Galen, though as he was your brother’s sire, I am sure you mourn him even more so, as do I.”

Thorin kept himself from gasping in shock. So this Captain was dead … and he was one of the Princes’ father? Well, it was no surprise then that Legolas wasn’t exactly happy about his father sleeping with someone else now.

“I don’t see you mourning him, _adar_ ,” Legolas spat bitterly. “Instead you amuse yourself with a Dwarf.”

“Enough!” Thranduil shouted and brought his fists down on the table. “Leave now, or cease speaking about matters you do not understand.”

Legolas sniffed haughtily and pushed back his chair. Everyone silently watched as he strolled out, back straight and chin raised, like a textbook Crown Prince.

“We need to talk,” Thranduil whispered into Thorin’s ear then, and he happily-not-so-happily followed his fellow King out of the dining room – ignoring Fíli’s, Kíli’s, Glóin’s and most importantly Dwalin’s stares – and into something that looked like an office slash sitting room. Or at least that was what told him the large desk and the cushioned, comfy chairs and divans, all kept in red-brown colours.

“So,” Thorin said, accepting a goblet with wine despite the early hour. The circumstances called for some alcohol, after all. “Care to explain what just happened?”

Thranduil leaned against the wooden desk, which cleverly brought out his curves, but Thorin tried to keep himself together, despite the blatantly erotic invitation.

“As you know,” he slowly began, “I had a wife, a Queen, before the moon of Eryn Galen became … what it is now. Legolas is my only child from this union, for all died who remained on the moon during the explosion that destroyed it, and among them the Queen and many, many women and children.”

Thorin nodded, though he was not sure where this was heading.

“As a consequence, my people were bereft of their future. In order to revive my people and give them hope, I asked male volunteers to attempt something that might save us.”

“You became Carriers,” Thorin added.

“Yes. We changed ourselves, making it possible for us to carry children.” Thranduil hesitated and gazed into nothingness, still poised and tall, but suddenly frail and tired as well. “Perhaps you know how sacred marriage – and with it bodily union – is to Elves. By becoming Carriers, we agreed – no, we _vowed_ to carry not only children, but with them the burden of the future. Meaning, that we would not marry, for marriage means eternal fidelity and love. Many of us lost our spouses during the destruction of our home, so we gladly sacrificed this right and our purity for the people we loved more than anything.” His eyes focused again to look at Thorin. “Do you know how many children I have, Thorin?”

He blinked, surprised at the question.

“I … don’t know. I have seen three so far, including Legolas,” he answered after a while.

“Mmh. But those are only the ones I was allowed to keep. I could keep Cedhron for they saw Carrier potential in him, and I was to guide him to his chosen fate. Merilinon is to share it as well.” Thranduil smiled then, but it was a smile full of teeth and tears. “I lost many of the children I conceived, but fourteen were born by my own strength and love. Twelve were taken from me before I could even name them – to be raised and groomed for the benefit of our people. And every time a warrior falls I think it could be my child.”

His breath caught in Thorin’s throat. It was unimaginable – even to him, a man who barely knew how to treat his nephews – how painful it had to be not to know your own children’s names, characters and fates.

“I am sure you already made the connection between Captain Baralinor and Merilinon,” Thranduil carried on. “About half a standard-year ago he fell in battle. Legolas actually approved of him, for a change – he usually despised any partners I took, even more so if the relationship was short-lived. I never loved any of them, I chose them for strengths or admirable traits they had, but he felt like I was insulting his mother by cheating on her with them. He also never understood my heartbreak whenever they took away a child; for heartbreak I felt, even though I knew they would be cared for and loved, and it had to be like this for the good of our people. I am just glad for his albeit reluctant and sometimes volatile love towards Cedhron and Merilinon. I could not have borne it if he simply hated them.”

“His … animosity towards me is therefore stemmed from a hate for your … bed partners,” Thorin said slowly, trying to digest the amount of – rather personal – information he had been given.

“Mostly yes. Though he is also one to hate Dwarves in general just for being a part of the Alliance.” Thranduil raised his eyebrows. “And just to clarify things, I might accept a bodily _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh_ with you, but that does not mean I will revive our contact to the Alliance – nor will I grant your Kingdom any more mercy than I might others.”

“I can live with that,” Thorin growled grudgingly.

“Good.” The Elf nodded curtly and let his gaze wander over Thorin’s body with a lascivious smile on his lips. “Now … where were we?”

* * *

 

> **Translations (in order of appearance):**
> 
> **Melethron nín:** My lover (Sindarin)
> 
> **Âzyungâl:** Lover (Khuzdul)
> 
> **Iôn nín:** My son (Sindarin)
> 
> **Adar:** Father, definitely more formal than 'ada' (Sindarin)

Here again the links to the Khuzdul dictionaries on scribd: [English-Khuzdul](http://de.scribd.com/doc/98387422/Khuzdul-Dictionary-E-K-v01-JUN12) and [Khuzdul-English](http://de.scribd.com/doc/98388264/Khuzdul-Dictionary-K-E-v01-JUN12). Sadly only for German speakers, here's the [Sindarin Lexikon](http://www.sindarin.de/index.html).

I will only explain or translate _new_ phrases, names and words at the end of each chapter, most of them are self-explanatory or unimportant anyway.


	3. To Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin sees more than he ever expected to.

_And if you complain once more_

_You'll meet an army of me_

**_Björk - Army of Me_ **

 

The _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh_ was now officially set. As a part of it there was the agreement of a shared bed and shared pleasures until the birth of a child, which would go to Thorin if it was male, or which Thranduil would keep it if was a girl. But a bodily _sejer udu gundûz umlhakhûh_ was more than just about carnal needs. It literally meant to share their bodies with all their desires, weaknesses and strengths. It made the other’s body your privileged business – and so Thorin was happy to mouth-feed Thranduil grape after grape, if that was what his fellow King desired. And he was even happier to let him steal quick kisses in between, because it brought a youthful, mischievous glint to those ancient, sapphire eyes. But before they had allowed themselves this short time in-between, a temporal bubble of peace and quiet in the King’s bedroom, Thorin had to face Dwalin and his disapproving glare. Of course his guard had nothing to say in the matter anyway, but they were friends and Thorin valued the opinion of all his friends – though he valued that of the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins the most, and Bilbo had even encouraged him to do this. Glóin never said a word, always just the reliable pilot, but Fíli and Kíli were at the same time delighted – “So we’re going to have a little cousin to pester and coddle soon?” – and disgusted – “Ew, uncle, so _that’s_ the noises we heard yesterday …”.

“What are you thinking?” Thranduil whispered and combed his hands through Thorin’s thick, black mane. He seemed to like it quite much, if his touches were any indication.

“That some might disapprove of our _sejer_ ,” he replied thoughtfully. Thranduil laughed quietly.

“You should have thought of that before sleeping with me – because now I won’t let you go before I get my daughter.”

“Well … If that’s all you want, I’m happy to comply,” Thorin rasped, tracing his finger over Thranduil’s collarbone while pressing him into the soft bed with his weight. “We’ll need to work on that, though.”

“How fortunate we are already in bed,” Thranduil sighed and arched his back to shrug off his overcoat. Underneath he only wore the already familiar, thin nightgown. Thorin growled and quickly shed his heavy tunic, followed by his trousers. Twig-like fingers traced over his well-shaped chest and abdomen, only to suddenly push him back so that Thranduil was now above him, grinning at him in a seductive, yet slightly disturbing way. Thorin just wanted to ask what was so funny, when he dipped his head and- … _Oh_!

For a few seconds there was only pleasure, shooting through his body like rockets and making him curl his toes. He’d been served like this before, of course, but _Mahal his tongue_. He tried to keep his yelps and undignified moans to himself, but it would have been easier to try and break a mithril blade with his bare hands, so he simply gave in. When the electric shocks of pleasure ebbed into a steady burn he lifted his head from the silken covers, only to meet Thranduil’s arousal-darkened eyes. His reddened lips were firmly closed around the shaft of Thorin’s cock and he felt his warm tongue slither and tickle. He would never have thought that the Ash-King would suck at him like he was the most delicious thing to taste, but _Mahal_ , here he was, quietly moaning while he swallowed him whole.

Thorin cursed in Khuzdul, before he dug his heels into the mattress and slowly, gently thrust his hips. Thranduil whimpered again, as if he was pushing into the secret entrance between his legs instead of his mouth.

But then he saw that Thranduil was actually  _fingering_  himself, which made Thorin moan in return, sending a shot of echoed pleasure through his veins.

When Thranduil released his cock with one last lick to suck in some air, Thorin sat and leaned forward to lap up excess saliva on the Elf’s chin and swollen lips. Licking soon turned into heated kissing, which inevitably lead to Thorin wantonly rubbing himself against Thranduil’s bent legs, begging to be allowed to where he knew long, twig-fingers still pushed and rubbed. When Thranduil refused to comply, he growled and simply climbed the Elf’s lap, trapping his cock between their bellies and gently finding the sought-after friction on warm skin.

“Now,” he snarled and bit into the soft skin over Thranduil’s collarbone, “I’m not sure I will get you pregnant like this.”

A low whine came from his paramour, along with a few Sindarin curses, but then a pair of long, willowy arms wrapped themselves around Thorin’s waist, while the thighs on which he sat gave way until he could kneel between them.

“Make it quick,” Thranduil breathed. “I intend to enjoy you and your skills more thoroughly later, without having to think about business.”

“How enjoyable business it is, though,” Thorin replied with a predatory smile, before he pushed Thranduil onto his back, legs spread so wide, his knees almost touched the mattress. He seemed to be aware of how sinful he looked, tumbled mithril hair, endless, silken skin, and at the core, his swollen entrance, now openly displayed. Thranduil purred and writhed in just the right way to steal Thorin’s mind, devious and utterly irresistible.

Thorin knew his paramour’s body better this time, so he immediately struck his sensitive spot once he pushed in. He was also more aware of the musical sounds that fell from Thranduil’s lips and how every moan and every tremble heightened Thorin’s arousal in return. Soon, his thrusts were too slow, too shallow to add to their building orgasms, so Thranduil clawed at Thorin’s back, moaned long and loud, and started to push back against him, effectively doubling the force with which they clashed. It took away Thorin’s breath, but by now his body was acting on its own, mindless and possessed by Thranduil, who surrounded him completely. His sighs were all he heard; his musky, heady scent was all he smelled and tasted; the arms and legs, and the wet heat around his cock were all he could physical feel. When Thranduil’s voice rose to howls and screams and his body tightened around him, Thorin only had to follow where he was being led, falling, falling, and then soaring high, as if his spirit lost his connection to the physical world.

He only slowly came down from his climax, but the first sense he regained was the one that had been lost to him during their coupling. Thranduil’s skin gently glowed in the dim, bioluminescent light of his bedroom, flushed over his cheekbones and the tips of his pointed ears, and the colour of his eyes slowly regained their beautiful sapphire blue. Next he felt fingers massage his scalp and a hand stroke the skin at the small of his back, the sweat cooling of his skin and all the warm spots where he touched Thranduil – especially where they were still joined.

“You,” the Elf breathed, looking at him with crystalline eyes. “I’ve had many lovers, and only few managed to pleasure me … But with you, it seems the only thing there is to have.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

“As I said … it is business. I do not expect pleasure from it.”

Thorin chuckled.

“Then you invited the wrong ones into your bed… so far,” he teased and let himself slip out of Thranduil’s passage, however stayed lying on top of him. Thranduil hummed, lost in thought or memory, but Thorin could feel him smile when he kissed him with both the passion and gentleness of lovers. They let the sweat cool on their skin until it became uncomfortable.

“Bath or shower?” Thranduil asked and rolled them over.

“Bath,” Thorin replied with a quirked eyebrow, unsure as to where this was leading.

“Mmh, a man after my taste indeed.” The Elf rose from the bed and slipped on a thin robe, before he held out Thorin’s coat to him. “Follow me.”

“With pleasure,” he said with a broad grin and just the right intonation so that he could see Thranduil shiver in anticipation.

A mere touch to the seemingly naked wall opened a secret door. Thorin couldn’t help but be amazed at the craftsmanship. So far the skill Galenian stone masons displayed could easily match that of Dwarves – a thing he would never have thought possible mere days ago. Because Dwarves might specialise on architecture, and the caverns’ layout here was crude and simple at best, but the amount of detail put into textures surpassed everything he had ever seen Dwarves create. What looked like a rough wall turned out to feel like living bark under his fingers. Floors that seemed uneven and unfinished actually mimic forest soil. Now, Thorin marvelled at the stairs that led down into the rock, looking like the roots of ancient trees. The steps were perfectly measured, none were longer or shorter than the other, but at the same time each step and each root looked as different as if they had grown naturally.

Suddenly, a hand lifted Thorin’s chin, tilting it up until he looked into sapphire eyes.

“Eyes on me,” Thranduil whispered teasingly and stole a quick kiss. And then Thorin could do nothing but stare, because they had entered a vast cavern, filled with little bioluminescent lights and pools of glittering water. Somewhere he could hear the water rush, like from a small waterfall, and the wild melodies of drops splashing onto the water’s surface. Thranduil laughed softly and let his robe slide to the floor, presenting his now completely naked body, whose pale glow contrasted starkly with the dark rock and the equally dark water lapping at his toes.

To a Dwarf the Elven body was a miracle. Thorin didn’t understand how such frail-looking and long limbs could hold such strength, how Elves managed to keep themselves from tangling and stumbling every second step, how these creatures could be immortal and yet so delicate. All his life he had found roundness and softness to be attractive, as well as well-kept, soft but thick hair and beard. But when he touched Thranduil, there was silky skin stretched over steel-hard muscles, and while his mithril hair was beautiful and ample, he very obviously lacked a beard. So how could Thorin nearly lose his mind and dignity when Thranduil stepped into the next best pool and started to wash himself with long, thin hands? How could he suddenly be enchanted by everything that should by nature be repulsive to him?

“Are you only going to watch, or will you touch as well?” Thranduil drawled and leaned back to dunk his hair into the water, which cleverly brought out the lean curve of his torso.

“Oh, I will do more than just touch,” Thorin promised, shed his cloak and followed the Elf into the pool. The water was surprisingly warm, almost like the thermal springs they had on Erebor. The warmth sank into his body and loosened his exerted muscles, and he couldn’t help but sigh comfortably. “But first I will enjoy a nice bath.”

Thranduil pouted.

“Come on, give me some time to properly appreciate you apart from bed activities,” he laughed and let himself float a bit closer to the Elf, who met him halfway and gave an appeased hum. There was a small protrusion under water, where they could sit, even though the water now reached over Thorin’s shoulders and barely covered Thranduil’s chest. “Tell me, where does this water come from? And how do you heat it?”

“Ah, the heat comes from the Source that maintains the force field, gravity and radiation shielding. It is a by-product of its energy. And the water is a courtesy of Lord Elrond,” Thranduil replied and wrung out his hair, to drape it over his shoulders. “His is the water, just like the air is Lady Galadriel’s.”

“And what is yours, if I may ask?” Thorin drew a hand up Thranduil’s arm, rubbing it in small circles and slowly working his way up to his now tensed shoulders.

“The earth and the woods used to be mine. Now it is merely bare stone.”

 “Merely stone?” he echoed, but not with much heat behind his words. “You insult me and all Dwarves.”

Thranduil looked taken aback and caught his hand between both of his.

“Forgive me, melethron nín, I did not mean to offend. As you see, my people have accommodated very well to the rock that now protects us, but you must understand that we loved our forest dearly. Its loss is still felt by us all, even those born after the destruction. It was our _home_. Nothing may ever be a satisfactory substitute.”

“Of course.” He placed a soft kiss on Thranduil’s pale shoulder, smiling gently. “I was not offended, âzyungâl.”

“Still … Let me offer you recompense.” Thranduil sighed and slid down to kiss Thorin’s neck, gently sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, while his hands roamed his broad chest and back. But then he suddenly pulled back and grabbed his robe from somewhere, quickly slipping it on in haste even though it was now soaking wet.

“What?” Thorin only managed to ask, but then a hidden door opened and an Elf entered, humming a lively tune. It was Prince Cedhron, who smiled and gently rubbed his belly.

“Adana!” he said when he spotted them and shuffled over to their pool. “Oh, Your Majesty. I did not mean to interrupt anything.” He threw a short glance to his father.

“No, no, _mell_ , come. Oh, let me help you.” Thranduil rose quickly and took his son’s hands to help him climb into the pool. Thorin only gave him a small nod and a smile in greeting, but both Elves still wore thin robes, so he suddenly felt very, very naked and awkward.

“How is your back?” Thranduil asked his son and sat between him and Thorin.

“Better,” Cedhron assured, but his father gave him a look. “Yes, yes, I know, ‘don’t lie to me’. My whole body is cramped, my feet are swollen and my skin prickles. Also, I couldn’t sleep that well anymore for weeks now, it is taking its toll.”

“That is very normal, _mell_ , but you tell someone if your back starts to hurt too much. Promise me.”

“I promise, _adana_.”

 “When is it due?” Thorin asked curiously after the two Elves fell into a comfortable silence.

“Another week.” Cedhron smiled brightly and placed a hand on his belly.

“Do you have a feeling yet?”

Cedhron looked at his father with an expression of sadness mixed with anxiousness.

“No … But I hope …”

“We all hope that,” Thranduil cut him off before he could finish his sentence and pressed a quick kiss to his son’s temple.

Suddenly, a low tremor ran through the stone walls of the cavern, causing the water to ripple and slosh against its confines. Thorin jumped and gripped the edge of the pool, but the two Elves merely frowned and exchanged a look.

“What is this?” Thorin asked, when the vibration didn’t stop.

“We are under attack,” Thranduil said and climbed out of the pool.

“What?”

Cedhron let his father help him out of the water and quietly explained: “It is the Source, Your Majesty. It has been activated, and what you feel is its energy coursing through the rock.”

Thorin couldn’t keep his excitement in check after that. No outsider had ever seen the Source in full action – perhaps this was his chance. When he climbed out after the two royal Elves and slipped his coat on at least they didn’t protest against his presence. They took a different path out of the caverns that led down at a steep angle, and with every step Thorin could feel the tremors and the temperature rise until even his thick-skinned feet started to protest. Luckily however, that was when they entered another cavern, hewn to a perfect hemisphere. In the middle of it was a small pool that glittered strangely. Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel stood by its brink, holding flickering torches.

“Your Grace,” the Captain said tightly and stepped forward. Without a blink of hesitation Thranduil shrugged his thin gown off and handed it to Prince Cedhron, who then retreated to the edge of the room.

“What is the situation?” Thranduil asked, proud and tall, every inch the King he needed to be despite his nakedness.

“Half a dozen Orc-ships, concentrated on the 450-9 cluster. There are three families, crops, clay, wood and a clean water well,” Tauriel reported. “I suggest we assist them – we cannot afford to lose this cluster.”

“No, indeed we cannot. Tauriel, take a dozen Leapers and attack them directly. Legolas, I want you to command the nearest battle station.”

“At your command,” the Prince replied, handed his torch to his brother and left the room, followed by Captain Tauriel, who already donned her space suitable helmet and gloves.

“Your Majesty,” came Prince Cedhron’s soft call, and Thorin snapped out of his fascinated staring to join him at the edge of the room.

“What is happening?” he whispered, observing as Thranduil stepped towards the silvery pool. Was the Source inside it?

“My father will command the Source and wield its power. Now silence, he must concentrate completely on its song.”

Observing Thranduil stepping around the pond, Thorin drew his coat closer around his shoulders, though not for the cold. It was actually quite warm in this cavern. No, the vibrations left his skin tingling with anticipation, like the ticklish sensation right before someone touches you someplace very sensitive; or like a thousand eyes are fixed on you. It was not entirely pleasant. Though when Thranduil suddenly stretched his foot and dipped it into the silvery water, the sensation only heightened, and Thorin had to keep himself from shouting in shock, when the liquid – he didn’t believe it to be water anymore – ran over Thranduil’s calf, up his knee, to his hip and further, ever further, enveloping him in a silver glowing second skin. Rock trembled under their feet, a purring wildcat roused from deep sleep, and when Thranduil took one last gasping breath before the liquid covered his mouth, Thorin had to lean against the curving wall behind him to prevent himself from falling to the ground. The silver fluid ran along the Ash-King’s pale hair, encasing it in its silver light, and then further, branching into the air, leaving tendrils of powdery smoke to curl and wind like ghost serpents. A violent jerk shuddered through Thranduil’s body and he stretched the fingers of his left arm, which suddenly turned pitch black. The image of floating rocks – the Trojans, but a very specific cluster – appeared in front of him, enlarged with a sweeping gesture, until even Thorin could see the swift movement of Leapers and projectiles attacking crude, bulky stars hips he recognised as of Orcish make.

 _It’s like a control panel – for everything_ , Thorin realised and watched in awe when more black spread over Thranduil’s body – the activated Source – and white tendrils of pure power appeared on the three-dimensional screen, sweeping away the Orc ships like they were feathers floating in the air. He saw the Leapers follow the Source’s wisps, wreaking havoc in their wake. In a matter of mere minutes, the dozen Orc ships were decimated to two, which were trying to flee, but the Elves were relentless. A silver wall rose out of the nothingness of space, and when the ships collided with it, their remains were guided away from the Trojan cluster by busy Leapers. As soon as it was clear that the danger had passed, the screen scattered into fine powder that floated back to the pool. The Source itself ran from Thranduil’s skin, leaving the Ash-King swaying on his feet. Before Cedhron could react, Thorin was by his side, ready to catch him when he fell unconscious.

 

* * *

 

> **Translations in order of appearance:**
> 
> **Mell:** Dear, as in _my dear_ (Sindarin)


End file.
